The shrill sound of the telephone, ringing in the kitchen, cut straight through the silence of the apartment, and it took some moments for Hanna to drag her mind from her book and back into present-day London. Looking around desperately for something to use as a bookmark, she finally pulled her hairband out, placing it in between the pages as her hair cascaded down her back.
Running through the living room, she made it to the kitchen just as the phone rang off. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to her, but the frustration still tightened her jaw as she realized that her mad dash had been for nothing. Feeling her stomach growl with hunger, she decided to make a sandwich.
As she walked over toward the refrigerator, she was interrupted once again by the sharp tones of the telephone. She lifted the handset, speaking a loud “hello” into the mouthpiece.
“Hanna? It’s Josh.”
“Did you just try and call me?” She bit her lip in confusion. He wasn’t supposed to be calling her until tomorrow.
“No, I’ve just escaped from a meeting. Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Are you watching the news?” There was murmuring in the background, and she wondered just how many people were at this meeting.
“No, I was in my room, reading. What’s going on?”
“There’s been a plane crash in New York. Two planes, actually. They’ve smashed into the World Trade Center.”
“Oh my God, Josh. That’s right next to my dad’s building.” Her hand was shaking as she held on tightly to the telephone, as if it were a lifeline to her father.
“It’s fucking mayhem over there, nobody knows anything. I’ve been called back to the office in London to man the phones for the night, so I’m leaving now. I’ll try and call you when I get there.”
Hanna’s heart dropped. All she wanted was for her boyfriend to come home to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. She placed the phone back in its cradle, her legs walking as if on automatic toward the living room, her arm reaching out robotically to press the “on” switch.
She couldn’t bring herself to sit down as she watched the coverage, though her stomach was churning in response to the visual disaster playing out on the screen. Her whole body was shaking, and a sob escaped from her throat as she watched the panicked responses of both the public and the journalists. They were already describing the attacks as “an act of war.”
It wasn’t just her father and his family she was worried about; there was Richard and the Maxwells, and all those other unknown members of the public who were being hit by tragedy before her very eyes.
Still trembling, she walked back into the kitchen and tugged open the drawer that contained their telephone books. Pulling out the tattered, black leather journal and flicking to the page with her dad’s numbers, she systematically dialed each one only to get the same response.
A busy tone.
Trying again, and again, she could feel the tears starting to tumble down her cheeks as she hit the buttons in frustration, knowing before even pressing the final number she would just hear a dead, monotonous response. Yet she still did it.
Pulling at the skin around her thumb with her teeth, she hunted through the book until she came to the Ls. Running her finger down the page, she found the number she was looking for and dialed it quickly, her heart lifting slightly at the familiar sound of a ringing tone vibrating down the earpiece.
“Hello?”
“Claire? It’s Hanna.” As soon as she heard Claire’s soft voice, the tears started to run thick and fast. Another strangled sob escaped from her mouth, and she heard Claire’s soft gasp in response.
“Sweetheart, have you heard anything from your father?”
“No. I can’t get through. Have you heard from Richard?” Her heart hammered against
her ribcage. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear Claire’s response.
“No, we’ve heard nothing. Steven is locked up in his room trying to get some information. He’s pulling in all the contacts he has,” she said, referring to Richard’s father.
“When was he supposed to be flying to San Francisco?”
“He’s meant to be flying this morning, Hanna.” Claire was audibly crying now, emotion punctuating every word as she spoke. “We don’t know what time, or which airline.”
Hanna started to rock forward and backwards on the balls of her feet, setting up a rhythm that was somehow comforting to her.
“Is Diana with you?”
“She’s organizing a party in Hertfordshire. She won’t be back until later tonight.” Hanna sniffed at the thought of her mum.